Curiosity
by GreenEyedMonster07
Summary: Petyr 'Littlefinger' Baelish isn't feeling well and gets paranoid about it. Sansa is there to comfort him. Kinda AU, but not too much. Set in the Eyrie, a few days after Littlefinger pushed Lysa through the Moon Door and almost got convicted for it. Eventual Sansa/Petyr pairing and starting out innocently enough, but moving towards M rating.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or any of Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire, unfortunately, and I'm not trying to step on anyone's toes. No copyright infringement or other bad stuff intended, this story is purely for your enjoyment and nothing else!_

 _Author's Note: Although I've been reading fanfics for many years now and playing around with writing my own, this is my first to actually get finished and published, so please be nice. This is the sweet beginning of a Sansa/Littlefinger pairing, meant to be series-verse/AU (because that makes the age thing a little less disturbing), so you know the saying - don't like, don't read! Rated M for sexual references, some mention of gore, and in advance for a second chapter, which I will write if you like this one._

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Although it was almost bedtime, he had her called to him in a haste that evening. "Alayne," he said, when she arrived, "close the door behind you; lock it." She was surprised; he was pacing his bedroom and seemed anxious. Despite his best efforts to hide it and be Littlefinger, in that moment he was mostly Petyr, she sensed. She did as she was bid, then moved closer warily. "Uncle Petyr, what is wrong?" He made himself stop pacing, even though he still felt just as restless. His eyes glanced furtively around the room for a moment, as if to ensure they were actually alone, before he said in a hushed tone "Sansa, sweetling, I'm afraid I may have been poisoned." "Poisoned?" she looked at him doubtingly. She knew he was a smart man and that he was mostly right in his assumptions and assertions, but – albeit a little pale – he did not look to be dying or even ill.

"Uncle Petyr, are you sure? Do you feel unwell?" He started pacing in front of his bed again. "I have had a stomach ache for the past few hours and it's been getting worse. I have taken antidotes to all the prevalent poisons, but nothing has helped." He felt himself getting more nauseous as he was talking about it, although he could not have said, whether it was due to the poison that was supposedly killing him, or just due to fear. "Are you feeling alright, my dear?" he suddenly said, walking over to her now, examining her face. "Yes, I feel fine, Uncle Petyr." she truthfully told, strangely enough starting to feel slightly amused, rather than alarmed. "Are you sure? No aches, pains, no nausea?" "No, I assure you, Uncle Petyr, I am feeling very well." She fought back a smile. It was not like him to be fretting like this, for all she had learned about Petyr 'Littlefinger' Baelish. But then, she supposed, marrying her late aunt Lysa, killing her and then being accused of and very nearly executed for that murder had to be getting to everyone's nerves at some point, even his.

She distrusted and at times even feared Littlefinger, as every sane person should. But this in front of her right now was just Petyr, looking like a frightened little boy, eyes wide and pale around the nose, and she felt sympathy for him spreading in her. Gently, she took one of his hands in hers. For all the times he had held her hand, this was the first time she found his cold and clammy. "Uncle Petyr, who should have poisoned you? How? Who would have access to such a poison you do not have an antidote to?" He dropped his gaze from her face. "I… don't know." he admitted. "Wouldn't it be possible that you just ate something that didn't agree with you?" Sansa continued to ask, patiently, still calmingly cradling his hand in both of hers. "I suppose so." he said, feeling more and more foolish by the moment.

"Sometimes a stomach ache is just a stomach ache, Petyr." she now said, reassuringly putting one hand on his right shoulder. As she could feel his fine bone structure, his elegant lean muscles under her palms, she also felt a warm, tingling sensation inside of her. She had felt it before, the strongest only a few days ago, when he had kissed her in the snow, before the whole dilemma with her aunt had unfolded. "You should rest and try to relax a bit." she suggested, and in a bold move went to open the buttons of his frock, starting at the top. He flinched for a moment in surprise and tensed up visibly, but did not pull away. "Should I send for the maester to see to your stomach?" she asked, half anticipating the answer that followed. "No, I don't trust the maester." "Would you like me to stay with you for a while then, until you feel better, just in case?" she tried, a somewhat playful undertone in her voice. "That would be very kind of you."

He seemed slightly nervous in a different way now, than he had been just minutes ago. Sansa had finished unbuttoning his frock and helped him out of it, hanging it over a nearby chair. It revealed matching dark breeches and a white shirt tunic, which too was buttoned up to the top. She reached for the topmost of those buttons, but was gently halted by his hands. His eyes met hers, slightly confused and incredulous at her actions. "I just want you to rest comfortably, Uncle Petyr." she said gently, and after a moment he let go of her hands and let her continue unbuttoning his tunic. She broke his gaze and went on with her task, wondering if he could tell she'd just lied to him. She told herself she was doing this out of pure curiosity, because she wanted to get to know Petyr better, as opposed to the Littlefinger she knew so well already; even that was only half the truth, she knew, but she did not care to think about that too much in that moment.

As she reached about the middle of his chest, he started shifting uncomfortably and halted her again, this time pulling the fabric closed over his chest abashedly. "It's alright, Uncle Petyr," she said, meeting his eyes with a gentle and friendly expression, "I – I've heard the story." His lips tightened and he seemed to have taken a sudden interest in the floor next to her feet, but his hands clutching the fabric to his chest loosened up a bit, and Sansa could easily remove them. He let her carry on, until his shirt was fully unbuttoned and she tugged it lightly out of his breeches.

She curiously inspected his naked chest. Clearly visible between a light cover of dark, curly hair – courtesy of his Braavosi heritage – was a scar, welted and pale, that ran from his left collarbone to just beside his navel in one straight, gruesome line. This was where her late uncle Brandon, her father's elder brother she had never met, had cut him in the duel for her mother's hand. She reached out a hand and softly traced the scar with two fingers. It is just curiosity, she kept telling herself. She could feel his chest heaving under her fingers as he took a deep shivery breath, and the warm, tingling feeling inside her intensifying, as her fingers caressed his naked skin. Suddenly he sharply pulled in another breath and clutched his lower abdomen with a pained expression.

"You should probably best lie down." Sansa said, snapping out of her daze. He just nodded and made his way over to the bed, with her at his heels. As he sat down, still rubbing at his aching stomach, she bent down to remove his boots. Her hair shimmered in the light of the candles. Would that she didn't have to colour it black, he thought, trying to distract himself from the clenching of his guts; he so loved her natural auburn colour. Once she had finished taking off his boots, he eased back into the pillows against the heavy wooden headboard.

Sansa carefully sat down at the edge of the bed. "When we were children and one of us – well, it was mostly the boys, but anyway – when they had eaten too many candied fruits or too much cake, my mother often used to sit at their beds and rub their bellies and sing to them." she recalled, smiling sadly. "Yes, I remember." he said, to her surprise. "She did that once for me, too, when I was growing up with her and your aunt and uncle at Riverrun. You see, she and Lysa had tricked me into eating something that also didn't agree very well with me, and I got terribly sick. Your mother felt guilty for what they'd done and sat by my bedside and rubbed my belly and sang to me, too." he explained, smiling as well. "Do you think you could do that for me?" he asked, hopeful. Sansa hesitated for a second, then nodded. Gently, slowly, she placed her hand on his lower abdomen; it felt incredibly daring to her. Her hands were warm and delicate, and her touch was soothing to his pain, as was her soft singing to his ragged nerves. She started rubbing his stomach in small circles, careful to apply just the right amount of pressure.

She found quickly, however, that her fingers kept catching on the waistband of his breeches and she could reach only half of the area she knew pained him. In a bout of slight frustration and courage, she therefore deftly yanked his breeches open and pulled them down just enough to still cover him, but grant access to the rest of his stomach. He had had his eyes closed, enjoying her touch and not least the alleviation of the pain in his guts, but at this he opened them startled. Was this still the shy young Sansa he had rescued from King's Landing?

This was the most state of undress she had ever seen a man in up close, she mused. She tried to ignore the tingling warmth inside of her, which had started out in her chest, but seemed to slip lower and lower, at that very moment warming her own stomach from inside, like a happy little fire, but with no intention to pause there for too long. She was just curious, she told herself again. And she was sitting on the wrong side, she realised, as her body started to ache from the twisted position she'd assumed. Never missing a beat, she slipped off her own shoes now and slid onto the bed on his other side. He was her uncle now, and she was just being a good niece by caring for him, right?

Petyr Baelish felt more surprise and excitement with his young 'niece' by the minute. Just days ago she had pulled away shocked when he had kissed her, albeit only after a long blissful moment. What had happened since? Where did this boldness come from? Was it something he had woken inside of her? He tried to distract his mind as best as he could from this topic, or the way it made him feel how she was lying next to him, propped up on her left elbow, still gently humming a tune and massaging his abdomen, all absorbed in her task. Her hand was so close to his manhood, she was bound to notice, if he would let himself get too excited. And an erect penis usually scared a virgin in the best of situations. Despite the fact she was lying next to him in his bed, or maybe exactly because of that, he was still feeling like he was walking on thin ice; more excited and tense than in the toughest matches of wits he'd ever had. Maybe it was this that made his bowels painfully seize up suddenly and caused him to unwittingly let out a low groan.

Sansa looked up somewhat startled, as he had been completely quiet until now. Nonetheless, she carried on, putting extra effort into smoothing out the cramps and soon was rewarded with a small moan and sigh of relief as the pain subsided. The sounds he made intrigued her and spurred her on. They seemed almost sensual, and like small glimpses of what was really inside him. Glimpses of Petyr without any taint of Littlefinger, just like the genuine, un-faked smiles, laughs and looks she sometimes managed to coax out of him these days; she was drinking in those moments and by now was entirely addicted to them.

She put her head down on his shoulder. She didn't know how he did it, but he always smelled clean and pleasant, like citrus-y soap and mint, mostly mint. His heart was racing in his chest and he wondered how she couldn't feel or even hear it. Or maybe she could, and she was enjoying what she was doing to him? If she was, could she be trusted? Sure, nobody could be trusted completely, but Sansa, she was so pure, she almost belonged on a pedestal. Maybe he was getting careless around her and letting down his guard too much; or maybe it was just because he felt weary and drained at that moment; closing his eyes again, he decided to put aside such concerns for now.

He had started to feel an urge to move his bowels a while ago, but having her next to him like this, closely, intimately, had been too good to interrupt. Now however, the urge intensified, and his stomach made an unmistakable sound, like a beat dog or a dying whale, with a painful pinch in the lowest part to match it. Sansa lifted her head from his shoulder, where she had been resting comfortably for a while. She understood the implications of the pitiful noise his stomach had just given off, and was in a rush to give him some privacy now. "I should let you rest on your own now." she said, straightening up and brushing her open hair back out of her face dignified. And rising from his bed, while slipping back into her shoes in one smooth motion, "I will come to check on you in the morning, but you may of course send for me at any time, if you need me, Uncle Petyr." She pressed a quick kiss on his lips and made for the door. "Thank you,… Alayne." he said confused, as she nodded goodbye to him and closed the door behind her. He slipped into his boots arduously, and as soon as her steps had faded away in the distance, he rushed for the door himself, now somewhat in a hurry to make it to the privy on the other end of the hallway.

Whatever it was that he had eaten, it had clearly very much disagreed with his bowels. Bending forward, still seated on the privy about ten minutes later, he rested one forearm and his forehead against the wooden door in front of him and let out a soft groan once again. Or could it be that the stresses of the past weeks had finally taken their toll? He held his breath and clenched his jaws as yet another bout of what felt like pure lava burst out of him, panting slightly when it was over and the pain in his stomach eased again.

He had always enjoyed the thrill and uncertainty of the game, of the chaos around him, had gotten his kicks not out of wine or women, but out of manipulating people in the way he wanted. But lately the stakes had been high, too high maybe. He'd seen himself faced with the almost certain prospect of his life ending with a step out of the Moon Door, and a splatter, probably right on top of the remains of his 'beloved' late wife. He swallowed hard – that was a thought too gruesome even for him, and he was used to a good deal of grisliness and gore. But what had happened? Was he becoming too old for this, for the life on the edge of the knife? Was his body letting him down in this way, protesting thrills with digestive upset? Sansa had saved him from a disgusting death a few days ago by lying for him, and she had in a way saved him today, too. Quite apart from making this horrendous bout of diarrhoea and the cramps that came with it more bearable, it was mostly his mind she had previously soothed. And hadn't that felt nice? To be at ease, letting his guard down and entrusting himself to another human being, if only for a couple of minutes? Letting his nerves settle for a while, while lying next to her, had perhaps been the best feeling – thrills and all included – that he'd had in a long time.

When he was certain, that his bowels had finished their rage against him for the time being, he cleaned himself thoroughly, buttoned up his breeches and stumbled into the hallway. He couldn't wait to get into bed at this point. His body felt weary, his thoughts muddled up, darting this way and that every other minute, not making sense like they usually did, as if he was drunk. He opened the door to his chambers, and suddenly he felt wide awake again. Under the furs of his bed lay Sansa, propped up on one elbow like before, a glass of wine in her hand. Judging by her dressing gown and night gown lying on the foot end of the bed, and by her naked shoulders he could see, she must have been perfectly nude under the blankets. She smiled at him innocently, but ever so playfully as he entered and said, "I'm sorry, Lord Baelish, I just got too curious, I could not wait for the morrow." "Petyr." he corrected her, lost for anything else to say, although he had a notion she had done it on purpose this time, to tease him. On a table nearby the door he found a flagon of the fine red and another cup, already poured for him. He stopped for a moment, then with a slight smile – a true one, though more to himself – he downed the whole cup in large gulps and refilled it, taking it with him as he walked slowly towards his bed. If this was indeed going to happen tonight, he would need all the strength and courage he could get.


	2. Chapter 2

_My apologies that it took me so long to write this. I always write bit by bit, a few paragraphs at a time, and had this lying around half-done for ages. But then the nice review of_ _Sanja Senpai_ _(Thank you! :)) spurred me on to finish and upload it._

 _We'll just ignore and gloss over season 7 here, especially the most recent 'developments', and pretend they never happened, for the sake of this fic and pairing in general. I have a big crush on Aidan Gillen, loved him in his role as Littlefinger and will sadly have to watch GoT without him now and find something else to watch him in instead… :(_

 _Be warned that detailed if (imho) tasteful descriptions of sexual intercourse follow. If that is not your thing or you feel offended by it, then please don't read. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy it! :)_

Had it been any other young high-born virgin under his protection, offering herself to him, he would have gently refused her and arranged a tactically profitable marriage for her instead – maidenhood intact, just to be safe. Sansa Stark though… Catelyn's daughter, more beautiful and desirable than her mother had ever been… The thought of giving her up in that way had displeased him to begin with and he had put off plotting that so far. Was it not possible, somehow, someway, that he could keep her for himself?

He stopped right next to her, as she was still smiling up at him. "Are you certain that you want to be doing this, my Lady?" he asked, returning the smile, but still incredulous at the same time. Her expression changed somewhat, turning more serious and slightly bitter all of a sudden. "I was told my maidenhood was a gift from the gods. This gift has gotten me betrothed to a monster and married to a dwarf; it has ruined my life and taken away everyone who was dear to me…" she trailed off for a moment. "I don't want this so-called gift anymore, and the obligations it comes with; won't you please unburden me from it?" she concluded.

"But why me, my Lady? A highborn daughter like you ought to save herself for the best match. It's not just a curse you hold, though it might feel like one to you, it's also power." He sat down on the edge of the bed next to her. "And I am but a low-born Lord with nothing to offer to a Lady such as yourself." "Oh, but you aren't anymore. You are Lord of Harrenhal, Lord Paramount of the Trident, and now Lord Protector of the Eyrie and the Vale. I am sure you have plenty to offer to a Lady." He wondered if she'd intended this slight double-entendre. Her smile had returned in any case, and it seemed more challenging now. "And you are right, for the first time in my life I hold a little power, and I am using it to decide that my maidenhood will not be a prize to be won anymore, that I will give it to whomever I want. And I want to give it to you." she said, her gaze boring into his intently at her last words, even as she took a sip of her wine.

"You are an experienced man, aren't you, Lord Baelish?" she continued, eyes now filled with a cheeky glint, instead of the sullen insurgence from mere moments ago. Despite this, her cheeks blushed a beautiful pink at the same time, and her free hand started fumbling nervously on a corner of the fur that covered her. He was baffled by her forward question momentarily. "I…" he started. "Someone once told me, it is better to lie with an experienced man, who knows how to make a woman… happy." At the last word her blush deepened and she averted her gaze. He let out a small chuckle. The little Lady knew what she wanted, but she was still so shy to say it.

But her flattery and insistence, and not least her naked body lying inches from him, had broken what little there was left of his willpower at that point. He might curse himself for it tomorrow, but tonight he was weak, a little beside himself, and he would give in to whatever Sansa Stark wanted from him. Smiling and shaking his head in disbelief at himself, he slid out of his shirt and stood to unbutton his breeches.

Sansa leaned back against the mountain of pillows and watched curiously. She had barely reached the door to her room previously, when she had finally admitted to herself what the warm tingling feeling inside her, which had spread all the way to her loins, and her racing heartbeat meant; she'd had a taste of him and she wanted more… Who cares if he wasn't a high Lord of an old House, or a big, strong knight? He was intelligent and ambitious and he knew how to play people. He had already come a long way in his life, and where he wanted to be, he would get. And he was hers. She could see it by the way he looked at her, that he opened up to her occasionally, by the way he'd kissed her gently and sweetly, not harsh and demanding, that he was completely infatuated with her. He knew what he was doing and he would treat her kindly, she knew that.

Still, she had been nervous, almost frightened by her own decision to turn back and return to his chambers that night. _"It gives some men courage."_ he'd once said to her about ale. But she was no man, and she'd felt that this was an occasion that rather more called for wine to give her courage, so she'd snuck down to the pantry to get a flagon. She'd also stolen a leftover lemon cake, just for good measure. Half a cup full she'd had immediately, and by the time he eased his breeches down, she finished the last sip of another half cup.

Her eyes went wide with surprise and shock at the sight of him half erect. She had occasionally accidentally caught a glimpse of a penis, when somebody had chosen a particularly inappropriate place and time to relieve himself, and she had seen the penises of her two younger brothers when she had helped her mother to bathe them, back in another life. But all those specimens had been rather small compared to this.

He saw the frightened look on her face, even though she was trying to hide it, and glanced down with one eyebrow raised, half flattered, half worried. This would still get a little bigger, he knew, even though it was in no way _exceptionally_ large. But then she _was_ very innocent-minded after all, or had been anyway, until she'd decided to wait for him in his bed naked. "Don't worry, I will do my very best not to hurt you." he promised in a soothing tone, and he meant it.

He put their wine glasses – both empty again – down on the floor next to the bed, then he carefully moved over her legs to lie on her right side. He caressed her cheek and kissed her long and softly, like he had done in the yard the other day. She tasted much better even than then, of the wine and of lemon cakes. He could feel her relax a little. "May I come under the blanket? It is quite chilly in this damned castle." he asked humorously, and indeed she could see goose bumps forming on his arms and chest. She nodded with a shy smile. He slipped under the furs gratefully, however taking care not to invade her personal space too much just yet. He still felt like he was walking on thin ice and he mustn't make a misstep.

Sansa mustered some courage and started caressing his chest again, like she'd done before, curiously tangling her fingers in the dark curls and running them over his nipples, perky from both cold and arousal. He slowly let his hand trail down from her cheek to her neck and shoulders. Then, gently, he pulled the blankets back a little to reveal her breasts. They were small and firm, just a handful each, and her skin looked like fine porcelain, topped with two small pink nipples. When he started softly cupping and caressing her left breast, she possibly blushed even deeper, but she did not refuse him or seem distressed. He slowly edged closer and started kissing her lips again. She seemed to decidedly be taking a liking to that now, and her hands slid onto his back and into his hair, pulling him closer, as she parted her lips to allow his tongue in.

While she was enjoying their kiss, he carefully let his hands explore more of her body; her slim waist, the small of her back, a soft round buttock. At the last, he felt her stiffen up a bit, but after he was gentle to her and did not go any further, she soon relaxed again. He started placing kisses down her neck, on her collarbones, on her perfect little breasts and down her belly. She was frightened by this new experience, but she also felt arousal, curiosity and the most pleasant tickle from his moustache and his warm breath on her skin. As his lips moved closer and closer to her core, her breaths grew ragged and her hands clutched at chunks of the bed linens in both nervous tension and growing lust. She gasped audibly, as he placed the last kiss just where the heat inside her was emanating from, and simultaneously started to use his fingers there, too. "Would you like me to stop?" he asked dutifully, little more than a whisper, internally praying that she didn't. But she bravely shook her head 'no', though she was undecided whether she was more aroused, intrigued or frightened at the moment. What he was doing to her felt good, it was just so new and unknown…

After a minute or two, without taking his fingers from the warm, sensitive spot between her legs he was caressing, he smoothly slid his body back up next to her. She had calmed down a bit and was taking deep, shivery breaths, her eyes closed and – could it be? – the hint of a smile on her face. As she felt his torso brushing up against her arm, her eyes fluttered open and now she actually shyly smiled at him. He placed a kiss on her lips and gently took her hand. He placed it softly where his erection was getting desperate for some attention. Once again this night, her eyes grew wide with surprise, but she did not pull her hand away. "What… what do you want me to do?" she asked genuinely. He stifled a chuckle. Yes, she wouldn't know how to touch a man, and how could she? Carefully, he closed her fingers around his shaft with his own and showed her the movement. After a few strokes he left her hand to its own devices and lay back in enjoyment. The only part of him still at work were his fingers stroking her pleasure zone.

As the first soft moan came from his mouth, Sansa opened her eyes once more to glance over at him. He was lying on his back, his own eyes closed and head tilted back slightly. Did he like what she was doing? She tentatively tightened her grip, just a tiny bit, and picked up her pace a bit. He made a sound like a man enjoying a good meal and tilted his head further back. She was amazed; with the feelings his touch evoked in her, how it sometimes sent small involuntary jolts through her body and made her gasp, but most of all with how she seemed to be giving similar pleasure to him. It was addictive and arousing to her to watch his reactions, wondering how far she could take him. A little tighter and a little faster again. She was promptly rewarded with a moan, and a small wave of pleasure of her own. A bit faster. He gasped. As much as he hated to, he had to stop her right now. His hand grasped hers softly.

"I'm sorry, did I not do it right? Did I hurt you?" she asked worriedly. "No, Sansa sweetling, you did it very, very right." He smiled at her, panting slightly, then buried his face in her neck to come down a little. No good in letting himself go already, when the best part was yet to come. He slid his fingers back between her thighs to see how she was doing. "I think you are ready." he said, pulling his hand back, his fingers glistening wet in the candlelight now. She looked shocked again. "I… I'm sorry…" she gaped. "Oh no, relax, that is normal." he assured her quickly, as she looked embarrassed and about ready to cry. "Your body makes its own… lubrication,… so a man can enter more easily." He felt amused how he had to explain every little thing about sex to her, but also sorry for her. How terrifying so many things about it must be for a girl, if nobody ever told her. "Oh…" she said, understanding and feeling quite foolish.

He took her face in his hands and spoke softly to her: "Have no fear or worry, my love, I want you to feel good and enjoy yourself. And you can ask me anything you like." "I heard that it hurts the first time, and that there's blood…" she started, unsure. "I'm afraid that might be true, although I have heard that it is different for every woman." She put on a brave face and just nodded. He kissed her sweetly. "Do you think you are ready?" Another nod. "Yes." He sat up slowly and she did the same, turning onto her elbows and knees. Now he was slightly baffled. "Is this the way you want to do it?" She turned her head to face him. "I- I don't know… Are there other ways?" He couldn't help but chuckle. "Yes, my dear, this is the way that animals and savages do it. Why don't you lie down on your back again, so you can relax and leave the rest to me." She blushed and smiled sheepishly and did as he suggested.

He gently nudged her legs open at the knees and felt her again. Still wet. And he was surprisingly still hard, despite all the distracting conversation that had been going on meanwhile. He leaned in closer over her, again sprinkling her chest and neck liberally with kisses, then moving on to her mouth. As the kiss deepened and her lips parted, so did her other ones too, as she instinctively wrapped one beautiful long leg around him. He figured it was best to make use of that moment of distraction of hers and pushed in in one smooth movement. She let out a small whimper and reflexively bit his lip. Though it had been unintentional, he couldn't say he didn't like that. He pulled back a bit and pushed forward again, keeping moving evenly. Better to get the painful part over with quickly.

It _had_ hurt for a minute or so, she thought, but by this time the sharp pain had faded away to a dull throbbing and was much easier to ignore. She could feel new, interesting things now. One of her legs was wrapped around the small of his back and his firm buttocks, and she had no memory of when or how it had gotten there, but it felt good. She pulled the other one up to join it, caressing his calf along the way, and that felt even better. She could feel him deeper, closer in that way and that wasn't at all bad. Surprised at her shifting, he opened his eyes and pulled back slightly from the kiss he'd held to reassure her until now. "Does it still hurt?" "No." She smiled up at him. Reciprocating her smile, he noticed how he too had tensed up as she had before, when he'd had to hurt her, and he too felt he could relax again now. Slowly he picked up his pace and started concentrating on his own pleasure now too.

He'd imagined how it might feel with her, beautiful young Sansa, when he'd had some time to himself or when Lysa had demanded he'd do his husbandly duty by her. (Although it had been difficult to concentrate on any fantasy to keep him from going limp, with her over-exaggerated screams piercing his thoughts.) Whatever he had imagined, it was better still in actuality. Sure, she was not the experienced lover, the seductress of his dreams – yet. But the feeling was like no other he'd ever had. Maybe because he loved her?

Their gazes met as they both seemed to choose the exact same moment to open their eyes and glance at the other. Sansa felt she'd never looked him so deep in the eyes before. If they were truly the window to one's soul, she was looking right at it, she thought, no place left to hide for Petyr. She gave him a smile, and the way she looked genuinely happy and content in his arms, combined with the air between them hot and thick with arousal almost took his breath away. He suddenly felt strangely vulnerable and quickly averted his gaze and buried his face in the nape of her neck.

Something else made him feel vulnerable too, though in a much more physical way. His recent marriage had put decidedly more strain on the muscles he needed to thrust his hips than he would have liked, and it felt like they were getting sore and tiring out, faster than he wanted to or even _could_ bring this to a satisfying end for either of them. When he felt he would very soon get a cramp in his thighs and buttocks if he kept up the pace, he spoke up softly and – he hoped – as enticingly as possible. "Would you like to try something new?" She wasn't sure what he meant, but she agreed curiously. He slipped his arms around her, between her back and the mattress, pulled her close to his chest and rolled over, taking her with him and seating her on top of him. She let out a surprised little gasp and a giggle as he spun her around like that, a sound she hadn't heard from herself in a long, long time. Now he was flat on his back, at her mercy, and Sansa went on to surprise herself by thinking that she somehow liked that. Tentatively, she tried moving up and down, but wasn't quite successful in finding the right movement until he grabbed her hips and lead her in the art of just how to gyrate them. Interesting, she managed to think through the rising pleasure, that there should be more skill to sex to learn for a woman as well, than just to lie down compliantly.

Petyr too, to his surprise, enjoyed this position very much. He usually saw himself as the active part, the doer, the go-getter, and didn't much like to be put with his back against anything, not even a bed. But now he could see her whole glorious body – near as white as the snow outside, and yet so inviting – on top of him, he failed to remember why. Once he was confident she'd found her rhythm, he put his fingers to work on her pleasure spot again instead. The soft little moans that escaped her mouth were like music to his ears.

Sansa wasn't sure what was happening to her, inside of her, but nature and instinct were slowly taking over, and soon she picked up her pace to get more of this addictive feeling. Faster, harder… She ground her pelvis against his to the point that it almost hurt, her moans getting heavier. His pleasure too came much easier, now that he was relaxed and didn't have to physically toil for it. Gods, she was learning quickly… Soon the most strain he was under was holding back, keeping his lust in check for a little while longer, as he could feel she was getting closer and closer to orgasm.

Sansa opened her eyes once more, despite the lustful trance she was in, to look at her lover. His right hand was still busy at work pleasuring her, but his left was clenched into the bed linens much like hers had been at the very beginning of their love-making. His head was tilted back slightly and eyes firmly closed. Small pearls of sweat glistened on his brow and chest, where her fingers, now clawed into his upper body for support, hadn't wiped them away yet. She could feel his heart thumping hard and fast against her palms, his breathing was going deep and heavy, and occasionally a low moan escaped his parted lips. She couldn't have explained how she came to feel like this about him now, but at this very moment he seemed like the most desirable, arousing man she had ever laid eyes on. Everything about him screamed for her to wrap herself around him and make love until she couldn't. And what he was doing to her felt JUST. SO. GOOD! She threw her head back and let out a silent cry as she came and a shiver and a heat wave simultaneously went through her whole body. She could see lights flashing before her tightly shut eyes, then felt a great, profound relief overcome her and wrap itself around her like a warm blanket.

The rhythmically pulsing clenching of her hot wet inside set him off as well. He had waited for this as his signal, but he also could not have held on any longer if he'd tried. The intensity of his own orgasm took him by surprise. His back arched, shoulder blades and head digging into the pillows, and both his hands were now back on her hips to push her down onto his as firmly as possible. A drawn out, strained groan freed itself from his throat as he struggled to keep the slightest amount of control over his body and senses.

After a few seconds that felt like minutes at the least, this all-encompassing feeling ebbed away, his vision un-blurred and he could find his own arms again to pull her close and hug her tightly against him. She lay on top of him, both their bodies hot and sweaty, pressed chest to chest, her hair draped over them like a dark veil. Sansa had the biggest smile on her face. For the first time in forever she felt that she meant something to someone, emotionally, not just tactically like a chess piece. That knowledge seemed to permeate into her through his tightly wrapped arms, like warmth on her soul, and though she was not yet sure whether she fully reciprocated those feelings, she felt genuinely happy. She could feel both their heartbeats and breathing, slowing down in time with each other, as she absentmindedly caressed his arm and chest.

Finally he loosened his grip around her and they sat up together, her long legs still straddling him. For a moment he had been unsure how she might be feeling about what they had just done, but felt relieved when he saw her beaming back at him. He closed the distance again with a brief kiss, then reached behind himself and pulled the smallest decorative pillow he could find out of the pile. That wouldn't be missed. If the sheets didn't have any suspicious stains yet, it would be better to keep it that way. After all, having to burn bed sheets and have them be replaced by servants was just as conspicuous about what happened in that bed, as leaving the evidence on for them to see. She seemed to understand the plan wordlessly and lifted herself up ever so slightly. He pushed the little cushion between them from behind her, and careful to catch any spillage on it, helped her up and off him.

He got up and dizzily staggered to the fireplace, not all the blood back in the places it belonged yet. He poked at the fire, then threw in a new log along with the dirtied pillow. Sansa watched him from the bed, not quite sure what a woman was supposed to be doing 'after'. Luckily, as the experienced man that he doubtlessly was, he was helpful with that too, bringing back a wet cloth from the wash stand for her. She was relieved to see there were barely two drops of blood on the wash cloth after she was done cleaning herself up, and none on the mattress. Petyr had returned to bed with both their cups filled with wine again, exchanged hers against her wash cloth and unceremoniously tossed it into the flames across the room.

Sansa let him slip back under the furs next to her, moving in close to warm and no less feel his body. He lazily draped an arm around her, lay back into the pillows and took a deep drink of his wine, feeling more calm and content than he ever had. He really shouldn't have, after he'd just taken the virginity of the heiress of one of the most important, influential Houses in the realm out of wedlock, but he did. She lay next to him, sipping at her wine too and smiling incredulously to herself at all the new, exciting things that had just happened.

He had only pondered for a minute, staring up at the canopy, before he quietly spoke up. "On the morrow," he calmly stated, "I shall officially announce your true identity and declare the Vale's support for House Stark. I will rally all the knights of the Vale to march on Winterfell and take it back from the Boltons. Once that is done, I expect in no more than a few moons, I shall proclaim you Wardeness of the North and give Winterfell back to you." he concluded. Confused, she looked up at him, raising herself on one elbow. "You would do that?" she asked, worriedly trying to assess how drunk he could possibly be after just over two cups of wine, or how else he could suddenly have arrived at this decision. "I would, and I will." He seemed far more casual and relaxed than she'd known him, but that could just as easily be due to the fact they had just lain together, couldn't it? She decided to humour him for now. "Why?" she asked simply. "Because it is your home and it's been taken from you. It's your birthright and your rightful place. And because I can see how much you miss it." Her eyes narrowed. "And what would you demand in return?" "My Lady, I do not demand, I would politely ask." He smiled up at her innocently. "Then what is it you would politely ask for?" she bored on, an eyebrow cocked, not sure what to make of this. How had she allowed Petyr to slip out of her bed and Littlefinger to slip back in? He spoke the only thing he dared to wish for, the only thing that was on his mind at the moment: "Another night like this with you." She was obviously surprised at this request, or at least at him speaking it so openly, but kept her other feelings well hidden from her expression. She took just a second of contemplation and then a deep breath before her answer. "After you take back Winterfell in my name and proclaim me Wardeness of the North, I shall offer you my hand in marriage. If you would still have me, now that I am no longer a maiden."

His eyes widened and he very nearly choked on his wine. "Are you sure of this, Sansa?" he finally managed to get out. She smiled at him like a sphinx. "I will be the heiress to a great House, I shall need a Lord husband and some sons to ensure Winterfell stays in the family this time, I suppose." _And I don't expect you will want to murder_ _me_ _any time soon, after all. I know it is some kind of an alliance against the Lannisters you want as well, but in case you plan on betraying me, I would rather have you close and be the first to know, or better yet convince you otherwise._ she added mentally to herself. Yet another time this night he was infuriatingly lost for words, something that did not usually ever happen to him. Except with her, it seemed. "You know, when I was to be married to the Imp," Sansa continued instead, "Queen Cersei liked to taunt me with the fact that you'd offered to wed me instead, that a _whoremonger_ wanted to marry me. She said she'd just laughed in your face, because you were far too low-born to marry a high-born Lady like me… Let us see if she will still be laughing, when we join our Houses and our forces, and all of the North and the Vale march on King's Landing."

Now he joined into her mischievous grin, and felt a certain sense of pride rise in him. She'd truly learned from the best. With her by his side, suddenly the Iron Throne seemed like a feasible option for his – for their – future. "And besides," she continued as an afterthought, "just one more night like this could never be enough. But I understand that a husband and wife can share nights and days like this whenever they want." She purred the last words and moved in to kiss him. He smiled into her lips and slumped onto his back happily, with her rolling on top of him. It was all he could do to spill the rest of their wine on the floor instead of the bed linens as the cups clattered to the ground. On the morrow, he would set things in motion, which might change the fate of the realm – if he survived the strains of this night.

 _So… What do you think? It's of course rated M, but I tried to stay as classy and realistic as I could. It might not be the sexiest description of sexy-time ever, but making Sansa know all about sex and act like a porn star at her first time just didn't seem right. It's hard to strike a balance between writing interesting, detailed and hot, but not boring or too vulgar. I hope I did a half-decent job._

 _I also don't like smut fics where the man has his way with the woman and is in full control, while the woman dissolves into a helpless, screaming, multiple-orgasming bundle in a matter of seconds / two lines, so I tried to avoid that. Petyr seems like the kind of guy who wants to be and thinks he is in control, then finds he isn't with Sansa, but that he doesn't actually care that much. Sansa has always been the good girl, now she finds she's become a woman with urges and her wilder side breaks through, and she's also discovered she can now be a player in the game instead of a pawn and take control (possibly even out of Littlefinger's hands?). How Game of Thrones is that, character development during sex? :D_

 _Please leave me a review! :)_


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